Beside a Narrow Stream by Faith Martin Read Free Book Online Page B

a murder inquiry could probably be classified as ‘trouble’ in anybody’s book, but she knew that that wasn’t what the girl’s mother meant. ‘It’s about Wayne Sutton.’
    ‘Huh, I knew it,’ Victor Freeman said, putting down a huge tub of flowering ‘Montana’ clematis, and glancing quickly into the shop to make sure that there were no customers waiting. ‘Always thought he was going to end up coming to your lot’s attention at some point.’
    ‘Oh now, Vic, don’t be daft,’ Pauline said, casting a worried look Hillary’s way. ‘He don’t mean nothing by it. He just thinks Wayne’s not good enough for his daughter, that’s all. I expect all doting daddies feel the same way.’
    Victor Freeman frowned at his wife and shook his head. ‘That boy’s trouble waiting to happen. I always said so. So what’s he done? Killed someone in that car of his? Knocked some kiddie over? Or has somebody’s husband put him in hospital?’
    Hillary smiled grimly. ‘Neither, Mr Freeman. He’s been murdered.’
    Pauline Freeman sat down abruptly into the empty wheelbarrow that was pressing against the back of her legs. Victor Freeman gaped at Hillary. ‘Murdered? So one of them murdered him. Bloody hell, I didn’t think it would ever come to something as bad as that.’
    Hillary held his gaze firmly. ‘One of who, Mr Freeman?’
    Victor shook his head, blinking. ‘What? Sorry, what?’
    ‘You said “one of them murdered him”. One of who, Mr Freeman?’ she reiterated patiently.
    From the wheelbarrow, Pauline Freeman groaned. ‘Oh Vic, you shouldn’t have said that. You don’t know, not for sure. It’s probably just gossip. Jealous old biddies. You know how villages are. We come from Birmingham originally, you see,’ she glanced across to Hillary. ‘Came down here when our Mon was just a baby. Thought country living, and village life would be safer. Better for her. But some of those cats in Deddington are vicious, I can tell you.’
    Suddenly becoming aware that she was sitting in a wheelbarrow , long legs dangling incongruously over the side, she struggled to get up. Her husband thrust out a hand to help her, but his mind was obviously still on other things.
    ‘I’m still waiting to hear who you’re talking about, Mr Freeman,’ Hillary said, not about to let it go.
    ‘Huh? Oh. Well, I dunno,’ he began to look worried for the first time and under his wife’s admonishing gaze actually blushed.
    ‘Like I said, Vic never liked Wayne,’ Pauline Freeman said quickly.
    ‘And you, Mrs Freeman?’
    The other woman shrugged. ‘Well, he had a bit of a way with him. He was obviously happier with ladies than with men, I can tell you that. But then, he was a good-looking young chap, and an artist to boot. Most men tended not to like him.’ She shot her husband another frowning look, and then shook her head. ‘I’ll have to go to our Mon. She’ll be right upset. Vic,you’ll have to stay, keep the shop open. I don’t know when I’ll be back.’
    Hillary decided it was in her best interests to let her go, and a few minutes later, when silence had once more settled over the clematis and wisteria plants, the rambling roses and honeysuckles, Hillary glanced pointedly at Victor Freeman.
    The lean, gangling man sighed heavily. ‘He was a bloody gigolo, wasn’t he?’ he said helplessly. And when Hillary said nothing, added more forcefully, ‘I mean, literally. He lived off women. Conned them silly. That car of his was a “present” from some besotted divorcee who should have known better. And that cottage he was so-called “renting”. Hah!’ he snorted inelegantly . ‘I doubt the owner of that ever saw a penny. Not that he wouldn’t have paid her in a different kind of way.’
    Hillary, by now not altogether surprised by this revelation, simply nodded. ‘His mother said he was a professional artist,’ she pointed out quietly.
    Victor Freeman laughed. ‘Oh yeah? And just who do you think it is